


Shattered What We Had

by justanothermaniac



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Derogatory Language, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Physical Abuse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest, Twincest, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24334753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothermaniac/pseuds/justanothermaniac
Summary: And just like that, Jeremiah is shattering, the pieces collecting on the concrete, beneath the only person that could ever put them back together.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Jerome Valeska
Comments: 2
Kudos: 76





	Shattered What We Had

He tries to tell himself that this is just another nightmare. He's used to those, has had them for as long as he can remember. Even after leaving the hell hole that was Haly's Circus, the terrors he's faced there always found him in the dark of the night, clawing at his flesh and tearing at his soul. Nightmares are all Jeremiah has to connect to sleeping, which is why he rarely sleeps and survives on a diet consisting mostly of coffee at night and whiskey in the morning. He can't remember ever sleeping for longer than four hours. Nightmares are as much a part of him as his freckles are.

But maybe it's the familiarity, the thorough knowledge and far too explicit experience he has with nightmares that prevent him from pretending that this is one.

The cold cement floor is biting at the side of his face. His glasses have slipped off his nose so all he sees is a grey blur illuminated by the purple lights on the ceiling. The hand in his hair is gripping hard enough to feel like his scalp might rip. It's a terrifying feeling and he can't help but picture it, his flesh tearing open and exposing his skull, an eery picture of blood, bone and red hair. He wonders if the blood loss would be enough to kill him. The possibility alone is enough to make him long for it.

Jerome is heavy, of course he is, he's always had more muscle mass than Jeremiah did, even when they were children. Add fifteen years of labor, jail and terrorism to that and you have an unstoppable force of nature, focusing all of its power on one, single goal.

Jeremiah's cheeks are itchy from dried tears, the unpleasant feeling getting worse by fresh drops of despair streaming freely from his sore eyes. He hates not wearing his glasses but right now, the familiar throbbing in his head is a welcome distraction. Or he wants it to be.

Jerome's breath is hot against the back of his ear. He didn't lose much time, _any_ time really and Jeremiah wants to believe that he fought as well as he could, that he gave it his all and granted, even if he did, the outcome would've been the same.

But he didn't. He didn't fight nearly hard enough to get away from this. In a way, that knowledge is even more painful than what Jerome is doing. But only in a way.

Jeremiah sinks his teeth into his own hand to muffle another scream. Jerome is relentless, his rhythm slow but brutal, every thrust feels like he's ripping Jeremiah open a bit more. Soon Jeremiah will be in pieces. If he isn't already.

"This is what you're good for."

Jerome hasn't spoken once since he shoved Jeremiah to the floor, the only thing Jeremiah has heard from him were raspy giggles and stifled moans. His voice is rough, rougher even than before, which Jeremiah can only assume is the ghost of the blade in his throat. He sounds breathless now and Jeremiah supposes that would make sense. He's putting everything he's got into this after all.

"This is what manipulative little _snakes_ deserve."

The words are like venom injected directly into Jeremiah's heart. He squeezes his eyes shut, biting harder until he tastes copper, his other hand clawing at the floor. He doesn't want to be affected by anything Jerome says, he's spent the last fifteen years raising a wall around himself, brick by brick he's freed himself from his brother's grasp.

But the wall has started crumbling as soon as Jeremiah saw him in that cage, limp and unconscious, his marred face depicting all the horrors he's faced and yet Jeremiah could still see the resemblance, the shadow of the boy he grew up with, the boy that shared half of his heart and soul.

Their bond could never be severed, as much as Jeremiah tried. He wishes he could tell Jerome that. But it wouldn't make a difference.

"You're tight, y'know that?" Jerome gives a particularly hard thrust at that and Jeremiah's back arches, only held down by Jerome's weight. "'m almost flattered that'cha saved yourself for me, baby bro."

He's giggling again, the venom gone from his voice, replaced by the giddiness of a child. Jerome's sudden mood swings and unpredictability are nothing new to Jeremiah and yet, he hasn't been exposed to it for so long that he almost forgot how scary it was.

A harsh yank at his hair makes Jeremiah suck in a breath, Jerome's lips brushing against his ear making it burn. "Apologize."

He pulls out almost completely before slamming back in again. Jeremiah's vision explodes, the burning of a thousand white hot suns devouring him. He screams, the salty taste of his own tears making his throat even dryer.

"Tell me you're sorry. And ya _better_ hope that I'll believe it or the next thing up that tight little ass is gonna be my gun", Jerome hisses, his grip shifting from his hair to around Jeremiah's throat, not quite squeezing yet but tight enough for Jeremiah's survival instincts to kick in.

"I'm sorry!" He sounds pathetic, meek and broken, a wasted existence. He doesn't care. He'll beg like this for hours if it gets Jerome to stop, if it stops the _hurting_. "I'm sorry, Jerome, I'm sorry, I am, I'm sorry..!" 

" _What_ are you sorry for? I want you to _say_ it."

Jeremiah sobs. "Abandoning you..!"

He's ten years old again, the circus shrinking in the rearview mirror of Uncle Zack's car. His heart is clenching and he feels sick, he wants to go back, to tell Uncle Zack to turn around. But it's too late for that, they'll never let him near Jerome again and Jerome is going to do horrible things to him for lying. Jeremiah has chosen his own path and he's chosen the path Jerome is going to take.

Jeremiah wants to go back. There is nothing he wants more. "I'm...sorry...for a-abandoning you..!"

He's flipped around, feels Jerome's nose brush against his, hears Jerome's rapid breathing, feels the puffs of air against his skin and the bruising grip on his thighs.

Too close. Too much. If Jerome moves his hands just a little bit upwards, he could wrap them around Jeremiah's waist, like he always used to at night. Jeremiah hides his face in his hands, not knowing what else to do with them. He can't touch Jerome. He would break. He knows it.

He wants it to be over. He just wants it to be over. "Please, Jerome, I'm sorry, believe me, believe me, _please_..!"

Teeth sink into the soft skin of his neck as he's filled with his brother's hot release, adding a new layer of pain to the sensitive membranes inside. Jeremiah's fingers dig into his own scalp, eyes squeezed shut when Jerome slumps. The pressure on his chest makes breathing even harder and he's already barely managing.

His eyes are closed but the purple lights are biting nonetheless. Everything is throbbing, his heart is beating rapidly against his ribcage, about to break out of it. It hurts so bad. It _hurts_. 

"There. Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Jerome's voice makes it real, so unbearably real. Jeremiah was certain he had no tears left to cry but he is proven wrong. He sobs, pulling so hard at his own hair that he can feel some of them being pulled out of his scalp.

He wants to die. He hopes Jerome will just let him die. 

Jerome's giggle cuts his heart clean in half. "Save those tears, baby brother. You're gonna need 'em."

Jerome pulls out of him, leaving Jeremiah dripping and hurting but he's not getting off of him. He stays put, heavy and unrelenting on top of Jeremiah, his fingers misleadingly gentle as they trace his bottom lip. Jeremiah has bitten it bloody. 

"Ya didn't think I was done with you yet, did'cha? Trust me, we're only gettin' started."

Jeremiah's heart feels like it's being doused in acid. He shakes his head, which proves to be a bad idea because it's pounding, razor blades pressing against his forehead from the inside. "No more", he cries, his voice barely there, "ple-ease, it _hurts_..!"

Jerome chuckles, pressing a burning kiss to Jeremiah's cheekbone. "Remember one thing, _Pretty Little Liar_. Whatever I'm gonna put you through...it won't be _half_ as bad as all the shit I've had to deal with thanks to you."

The words are like a punch in the gut. The things their mother and uncle did to Jerome were unspeakable long before Jeremiah left. He can't possibly imagine how bad it got after what Jeremiah told them.

He wants to take it back. He _can't_ but he still wants Jerome to know, Jerome needs to understand. He will. He has to. Their bond is still there. Jeremiah knows it, he feels it, wrapped around his chest and pulling tight. 

Jerome's finger is sliding down one of the many paths Jeremiah's tears took down his face. It's tender. For Jerome, this kind of action is _very_ tender. 

Jeremiah's trembling fingers curl, grasping the rough fabric of Jerome's suit. He wants to hug him, he wants to be held which is _absurd_ and proves what he's been trying to deny his entire life, that he's monstrous and broken, a truly repulsive abomination, exactly what Jerome has been told to be ever since they were born. But what makes it even worse is that the reason Jeremiah doesn't do it is because he doesn't know if he's _allowed,_ if Jerome _wants_ him to. "I love you..!"

The finger stops.

Jeremiah presses his forehead against Jerome's collar bone. It's still throbbing. Everything is still throbbing. He can't take any more of this. "I do, I do, I love you, Jerome, please don't hurt me again, please, please, _please_..!"

Jeremiah can't contain himself, he cries and pleads against his brother, repeating the same phrases over and over, _I love you, I'm sorry, please, Jerome_.

Jerome doesn't say anything while Jeremiah cries his heart out. He's still towering over him like a God, no, a fallen angel, banned to the deepest pits of hell to ensure the never-ending misery of the sinners. He has yet to return Jeremiah's hold in some way. 

He does, after an endless moment. One of his hands finds the back of Jeremiah's head, gently cradling it and Jeremiah's chest is about to burst.

Jerome's hand is warm and terrifyingly comforting against the back of Jeremiah's head, however it is also eerily still. "Y'know what's funny?"

Jerome's tone of voice throws him off. There's a bitterness to it and the hairs on the back of Jeremiah's neck perk up, like a hunted mammal that's been alerted by the rustle of leaves. 

"I used to love you. So much."

And just like that, Jeremiah is shattering, the pieces collecting on the concrete, beneath the only person that could ever put them back together. It hurts. It hurts much more than any form of physical abuse could. 

"Awww, now, now..." The hand pets his head like it would a dog's. The snide, horrifyingly cheerful tone Jerome is best known for has resurfaced, sealing the shards of Jeremiah's being in a crate to be buried deep beneath his hope.

Jerome giggles and cruelly kisses Jeremiah's temple. "Maybe you can earn it back. You'll have all the time in the world to try, baby brother..." 


End file.
